The Wyvern
by Reivei
Summary: Very, very loosely based off of LoTD. There's only one similarity. You didn't have to play the game to understand the story. Chapters will take me a while to write, due to a huge lack of time and the amount of detail that I put into them.


**Prologue: Shift**

The wind's might forced the sea to crash itself against the immense gray boulders. Fire fell from the heavens and painted majestic branches of lightning across the sky, only to vanish an instant later without a trace. Water, too, descended in heavenly blankets, as the clouds shed their many tears to the earth below.

An isolated stone tower lay safely away from the edge of the land, constantly watching the endless expanse of the sea. The tower was the last sign of human civilization, the brink of humanity's grip of the world. A palm tree lay a few yards in front of it, swaying in the fierce wind. Across the massive sea, darkness claimed the world. It didn't matter, however, as humans were afraid of the dark, and that suited them just fine.

A lone warrior stood in front of the looming stone tower, armed with a long pollaxe. He was of good build and at least seven feet tall. He wore brown gauntlets and brown boots as well as an earth-colored helmet. He seemed not affected at all by the bellow of thunder and the downpour of rain or the whistling gale. His name was Maimus, and his only goal was to protect the events taking place inside. So far, he was doing a very good job of it, the only reason being that the shift was uneventful.

Nothing exciting had happened during the past hour and forty-five minutes. He had not seen much of anything except for the storm. A few rabbits had scuttled by a bush and disappeared into it. A beautiful falcon with a radiant orange breast had soared to the top of the tower, keeping a beady eye out for prey, and then darted off seeking another, more promising lookout. However, other than that, there was nothing interesting worth watching.

Maimus set the blade end of the pollaxe on the ground, holding the end of it with his left hand. He outstretched his right arm far above his head and yawned. He only had another fifteen minutes until he was relieved, but the suspense was irritating him. He observed the area as he had countless times, but nothing, of course, had changed. He sighed and leaned on the weapon.

_Twinkle._

He was back at his home, at the young age of five. His older brother, Juroh, was eight and was bashing a wooden sword against a rowan tree. He took no interest in such things. A small bird was chirping on an oak tree, trying to call back its mate. Next to the oak tree, a stout white wooden house stood proudly, gleaming at all else. Beyond the house, a vast field expanded like a blanket until it was broken a large lake. By this sparkling essence was his father, fishing with a wooden pole along with one of his friends. Beyond that, there was a forest that the family got their wood and food from. Even beyond that, there were snowy mountains, tremendous giants towering over everything and guarding his home. Though the mountains blocked all forms of danger from entering the area where he lived, they were deplorable to him. Because of them, his mother was no longer alive.

He never ventured past the forest.

_Twinkle._

_Memories are the wavering of the course of time. _That was a proverb taught to him by his grandfather. As he thought of the past, this adage immediately came to his mind. He chuckled, remembering that the only reason that his grandfather said this was because he could remember nothing. As if Nature agreed with his cheery mood, the rain cleared and the wicked storm ceased to exist. The clouds retreated into the horizon, seeking to lay their fury somewhere else. The evening sky was all that remained. Alterations like this occurred suddenly and frequently in the area, and he was told to expect them. Happy with this change, Maimus laid the pollaxe on the ground and sat down next to it. He was not supposed to do so, but, of course, nothing would happen while he did.

_Twinkle._

Now he was ten years older, young and adventurous, and curiosity stuffed every crevice of his mind. Tall and lean, he was adept at climbing trees and other tasks of agility, but in strength he was like a minnow. Sparring every day with Juroh, he was relentless in his pursuit to thicken his muscles like his brother had, but his brother had yet to be outstripped.

On this day, however, the word "normal" disappeared like his father and grandfather.

As usual, he was attempting to chop some wood for the fire, but this particular oak refused to fall. Juroh had finished his share of the wood, but was helping him to keep himself in good shape. As he was of age, Juroh would be leaving his home in the next week. His father and grandfather were inside with a guest, whose identity was kept secret. They weren't doing a very good job of it, though; as the figure of the guest told Maimus that it was the parent of one of Juroh's mates. He told Juroh about this. Juroh laughed and said:

"There's no way, Maimie. Father would never plan a celebration for this. He hates the fact that I am enrolling."

So he continued to chop the wood. _Silence is mud_ he thought. He was one of those people who could not ever find a retort. His brain simply did not work that fast, and he hated it.

A scream pierced the air. Maimus dropped the axe, surprised, and the heavy butt landed on his bare foot. He cried out in pain, then sat down, nursing it with his hands. Juroh also appeared surprised, but managed to keep his toe from experiencing trauma.

Another scream sliced its way into Maimus's ear. Where it had come from was clear. Juroh hefted the axe on his shoulder and rushed inside the house. Maimus stumbled to his feet to follow his brother inside, but he tripped over the threshold and landed on his hands. Then, the shock came.

As he pushed himself to his feet, he looked up, and his face froze in horror. The stranger had not been who Maimus had thought he had been. The lean man was dressed in a black cloak with a hood that covered his face in shadow. Black chainmail was fastened to his chest, black boots protected his feet, and black gauntlets twirled a knife.

His father was on the rocking chair, a knife sheathed in each of his eyes. Blood flowed down like tears, and his hands were turned palm up, their fingers missing. The chair was losing the momentum it had left. His grandfather was in a similar position, but a knife was only in his left eye and his fingers were spared.

"W-What? Father! Grandfather!" Juroh yelled, hoping they would respond. He turned to the stranger. "What the hell did you do?"

The stranger paused twirling the knife. "Put them out of their misery," the stranger replied in a cool voice. Juroh waited, but the enigmatic man offered nothing else.

"Why did you kill them? They were my family! You had no right!" Juroh turned furious.

"I can't say. I must have gotten a little impatient. My finger could have… twitched." He resumed twirling the knife.

Juroh roared. Gripping his tool like a battleaxe, he charged forward. Calmly, the black-clad man flicked his wrist forward, and the knife vanished from his grip. Maimus heard a grunt, and his older brother was on the floor, the knife sunken in his shoulder. "Juroh!" he cried.

"I suppose you're done for now." The stranger replied as if were bored. He checked in his pocket for another knife, but there wasn't one. "I seem to be one short. That's odd. Very well, then." He strolled over to Juroh and yanked the blade mercilessly. Juroh yelped and the bloody weapon was back in the man's hands. "Heh… isn't that funny? If you try to attack me again, you'll die with your own blood." Juroh struggled up. "Be warned, this one's going to end up in your heart."

Juroh smiled. Then, with unusual creativity, he did something that completely stunned Maimus.

He threw the axe.

It sailed through the air in a clean revolution and the butt struck the man's head. Surprised, he stumbled to the ground. Then, Juroh landed on the man with an impressive leap, pinning him to the ground. He wrestled the man for a few seconds, but the man punched Juroh's injured shoulder, and Juroh fell on his back. Rising to his feet, the man quickly dropped and lunged at Juroh's heart.

There was a sickening crack. The man lifted the knife again.

There was another sickening crack.

Maimus didn't need to look at Juroh to see what happened. He ran forward, picked up Juroh's axe, and with all his might, brought it over his head and down upon the man.

_Twinkle._

For a few minutes, he sat, relishing in the cool, salty breeze that wafted along from the sea. He removed his gauntlets, allowing the air to flow through his fingers. He sighed again, waiting for the last, few, and seemingly unending minutes of the shift to cease.

Which was when the rustling began. It was short at first, just a few seconds long. That was long enough to startle Maimus, however. He stood up, surprised, and picked up his pollaxe, scanning the area. But there was no wind, and nothing had changed.

Suddenly, he felt a little dizziness in the area of his head. _It's nothing,_ he told himself, _just that little cup of ale you had a few hours ago. It's getting to your head. Nothing's wrong._

The wind picked up, and it brought with it a series of chills to the back of Maimus's head. Or so he thought. The palm tree lay perfectly still, untouched by the wind. Yet he ignored it. It began picking up faster and faster, and the chill in his head started to expand. It spread to the entire bottom, and then the top. Then, he heard voices.

_"…fury, endless fury…"_

That was odd. This had never happened before.

_"…no hope… death by arrows…"_

That was familiar. He recalled hearing this before.

_"…escape, must escape!"_

Something inside his head was trying to crash its way out. He could make no sense out of the voices, but they got louder and louder.

_"…please… don't do it… NO!"_

The pollaxe clattered to the ground as he doubled over and clutched his head in mad agony. They were screaming, tearing his head apart from the inside.

_"NO! STOP! HE CANNOT BEAR THE __PAIN__!"_

He roared in rage and sank to his knees. As if his neck muscles were being controlled by a puppeteer, he jerked his bloodshot eyes to the palm tree ahead, glimpsing the dark, smoky wisps approaching it. With the lightest of touches, they were absorbed by the tree and entangled themselves around it. He howled again and picked up the pollaxe. He took one last breath and plunged it within himself. The pain suddenly dissipated and he felt heaven wash over him.

He never noticed the lanky figure walking into the tower.


End file.
